


The Try Guys Find 100 Ways To Say I Love You

by Izzygrace07



Category: Buzzfeed The Try Guys (Web Series)
Genre: 100 Ways to Say I Love You Writing Challenge, And it should be talked about more, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Because I feel like society doesnt talk about females using those drugs on males enough, Cake, Closeted Character, Coming Out, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Dreams, Except it's used by a girl, Grounding, Ice Cream, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Phone Calls & Telephones, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Sleep Deprivation, trevor project
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2020-07-07 12:14:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19851505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzygrace07/pseuds/Izzygrace07
Summary: One large plot based around the "One Hundred Ways To Say I Love You" challenge.Eugene has never been one to share his feelings with his friends, nor has he ever taken the time to realize how much his friends love him. Maybe, with enough time, he'll realize that they love him, and how much he loves them back.Ariel, Becky, Maggie, Matt, and Wes do not exist in this universe. All of the Try Guys are single.





	1. "Pull over. Let me drive for awhile."

It's three in the morning, and there are still two hours left between Eugene and the city. 

Eugene has never been a fan of driving, especially not long distances. Driving makes his nerves skyrocket. Although he enjoyed having control over the vehicle itself, the idea of causing disaster with even one wrong move was horrifying, enough to make him wonder why he had ever wanted his license.

When asked who would drive home from their latest out-of-city photoshoot, he automatically offered himself up for the task, comfort pushed aside for the sake of his friends. However, he had not been expecting the journey to be so laborious on his body; Ned was able to drive the six hours with ease, so surely he could do so, too. And yet, Eugene can feel stress and slumber creeping up on him, an irritating obstacle for him to fight past. 

In his peripheral, he can see Keith in the passenger's seat, resting his head against the window in a peaceful sleep. Behind him, he knows that Zach is leaning comfortably against Ned's shoulder as Ned sleeps upright. The gentle snores coming from the two in the back make Eugene envious, craving some shut-eye for himself, just enough to rid himself of his nerves.

When he feels his eyes begin to slip, he begins fearfully blinking rapidly in an attempt to wake himself up. His grip on the steering wheel tightens and his heart pounds. Everything in his body feels incredibly tense, and he remains in an uncomfortable hunched position. He had turned off the radio hours ago, the intense static of the countryside leaving him with nothing but peaceful, gentle melodies that forced drowsiness. Left in the silence, his eyes fixate intensely on the road, trapped in a sleep-deprived hyper focus as anxiety rushes through his veins. 

"Eugene?"

Eugene nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden sound. Regardless, his gaze stays straight ahead, knowing full well who owned the voice. 

"Hey," Eugene replies in a faltering mumble, raising a finger from the steering wheel to half-heartedly wave at Keith.

He hears Keith shift in his seat. "How much longer until we're back?"

"Two hours."

"How're you doing?"

There's a slight delay before Eugene responds. "Fine."

He is anything but fine at this point. His eyelids threaten to close, wanting to send him into sleep as he drives. The idea of this terrifies Eugene, making him pull one hand away from the wheel so he can pinch himself on the thigh, jolting his body awake. He yawns, tired tears forming in his eyes as he attempts to force it down. He rubs his eyes hastily, determined to keep them open. 

"Pull over."

The sudden command alarms Eugene, but he doesn't obey. There is no panic in Keith's voice, nor any urgency, only gentleness. Confused, Eugene keeps driving, shaking his head. "Why, you okay?" Eugene asks, concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Keith reassures. "Pull over. Let me drive for awhile."

That's enough to take Eugene's focus off of the road, instead turning to look at his friend. Relief rushes through his body, the idea of else take the wheel being quite relieving. And yet, his pride holds him back from saying so, and instead he says, "No, I'm fine. We're almost back, so--"

"I didn't ask if you wanted me to drive," Keith says, no sarcasm or smartness to be found in his voice. "You were up all night editing last night, you've been driving for four hours, and you look nervous as fuck. Pull over and let me drive the last few hours."

"But--"

"Eugene."

Keith's face is painted with determination and care, begging for Eugene to listen. As much as Eugene doesn't agree to the idea, he can't find any argument that would be satisfactory, not without talking about his irrational worrying. With a sigh, he flips the switch for the turn signal.

"Okay, fine," he gives in, pulling onto the side of the road. Hazard lights on, he climbs out of the driver's seat, sleepily walking around to the passenger's seat. When Keith exits the car, he gives Eugene a pat on the back, taking his place behind the steering wheel.

When Eugene rests into the seat, his back immediately cracks, causing him to moan in relief. He didn't realize just how long his back had been hunched over. He adjusts the seat back as far as he can, propping himself up slightly with his arm. The feeling of pure bliss that enters his body upon closing his eyes is perfection, one that he hasn't felt in a long time.

He feels something drape across his torso. When he opens his eyes, he sees it's Keith's blue hoodie acting as a makeshift blanket. He gives a look to Keith, which is returned with a warm smile. Rolling his eyes, Eugene shifts himself into the most comfortable position he can, shutting his eyes peacefully.

"Thanks, Keith," he mutters, sleep taking control of his body.

The last thing he feels before being consumed by darkness is the car pulling onto the highway.


	2. "It reminded me of you."

_Rate your mood from 1-10_   
_Sit up straight with your feet on the floor_   
_Breathe slowly and deeply_   
_How many windows are in the room?_   
_How many outlets do you see?_   
_What does the surface you're sitting on feel like?_   
_What color are your pants?_   
_What color are your shoes?_   
_What do you hear?_   
_What is the floor made of?_   
_How clean is the floor?_   
_What was the last show you watched?_   
_How many shapes can you name?_   
_Rate your mood from 1-10._   
_If it is still under 5, repeat._

Eugene stares at the long text message with a perplexed look, unsure of what to make of the questions. When he had woken up that morning to a text from Zach, who he was staying with the previous night, he was expecting a wake up call, maybe a weird picture he had found somewhere online. Instead, here he is, met with a string of questions that he wasn't sure if he was supposed to answer or not.

Pulling himself out of bed, he rubs the sleep from his eyes and combs his hands through his hair, making his way into the kitchen. There he sees Zach typing away on his laptop at the kitchen table, still in his pajama pants as he sips a cup of coffee, focus drawn to whatever he was working on. His hair stuck up at weird angles, and he looked slightly distraught despite appearing to be well rested.

Eugene approaches the table, holding up his phone. "Dude, what's this?"

Zach looks up from the computer and blinks, seeming to wake up ever so slightly at the sight of Eugene. Takes the phone from Eugene and scans the screen, returning it less than two seconds later. "It's for you."

Eugene raises an eyebrow. "Okay? Why?"

"It reminded me of you," Zach replys dismissively, tapping endlessly on the keyboard. His vagueness annoys Eugene, but Eugene keeps his cool, preferring to display his confusion rather than his irritation.

"Why?"

Zach shrugs. "You get nervous a lot, and I thought that it would help you."

This answer takes Eugene a second to comprehend. Eugene has never been one to share his emotions, and would rather keep them hidden away than burden his friends with his unnecessary worries and frustrations. To think that his nerves had been so evident to Zach makes him feel uneasy, wondering if he had been this obvious about his emotions with the other two Try Guys.

"I…" Eugene clears his throat. "I don't know what you mean."

Zach sighs almost sadly, patting the seat next to him at the table. Hesitantly, Eugene sits down, anxiously waiting for whatever is to come. Is Zach upset with him for not understanding? For not opening up to him about his nerves? What has Eugene done?

Eugene had done nothing.

Zach turns his computer to face Eugene, and instantly, Eugene's gut fills with two very conflicting emotions: dread and relief.

Helping A Loved One That Suffers From Anxiety Disorder

"Keith told me that you and him switched places in the car last Saturday," Zach elaborates. "It wasn't the first time he had seen you nervous like that. It wouldn't have been a first for anyone, if I'm gonna be honest."

Eugene's mouth opens to reply, only to shut again. He's never really opened up about his anxiety to anyone, not even to Ned, Keith, and Zach. Much like the rest of his emotions, it didn't seem important. His focus was always better drawn to his friends and their struggles. In his mind, they didn't need anything else to worry about. Seeing the article title and hearing Zach's words, knowing what Zach was implying with them, warmed his heart, yet scared him to death.

Eugene's voice falters. "Zach, I--"

"I know you're not the most emotional person," Zach interrupts, speaking with a sternness that isn't heard often by Eugene, "and I don't want you to feel like you have to open up. I just want you to know that when you finally feel like you can, I'll be here to listen." Zach's hands rests on Eugene's, squeezing it lightly. "You're not alone, Eugene. It can be tough, but I know you'll learn to get through it."

The smile that forms on Eugene's face feels foreign, yet needed. He lets out a light chuckle, flustered by Zach's empathetic speech.

"Thanks, Zach," he says graciously. "That means a lot to me. Is that what this text message is? Some way to help someone with anxiety?"

"Exactly!" Zach exclaims. He takes Eugene phone and sets it on the table. "See, you judge your mood, and if it feels below five, you sit down and breathe…"


	3. "No, no, it's my treat."

The flavor of chocolate melts on Eugene's tongue, and he closes his eyes peacefully to ravish in the taste. The silver spoon cools his mouth, lips sticking partially to the surface. Across from him sits Ned, relishing in his own vanilla ice cream dish.

Growing lonely in his apartment, Eugene had decided to spend his time with the other Try Guys doing something nice. Unfortunately, Zach had set aside the day for editing work, and Keith was visiting his family for the week. Luckily, Ned agreed to join Eugene, neither necessarily picky on what they would do. After aimlessly walking down the streets of LA, the two decided to stop at an ice cream parlor and let themselves take a break from their healthy diets.

"So," Ned says, dipping his spoon back into the bowl, "you and Mari?"

Eugene raises an eyebrow. "Takahashi? What about her?"

Ned shrugs, glancing at Eugene with suggestive eyes. "She seems nice. You two have really gotten close."

"Yeah, she's pretty cool," Eugene says through a mouth of ice cream, taking a moment to let the desert melt on his tongue before swallowing it. He quickly spoons in another scoop. "I'm telling you, Asians just connect like that."

Ned nods his agreement. "When are you gonna ask her out?"

Eugene gulps, caught off guard by Ned's question, and coughs heavily on the ice cream. His spoon drops onto the table with a soft clang, and he leans over the barstool, clearing his throat. He feels Ned patting him on the back supportively. After a moment to recollect himself, coughing passed, he sits back up with a red face and teary eyes. Wiping them, he takes a sip of the water Ned is holding out to him, mumbling a quick thanks.

"Never," Eugene says as soon as he can speak clearly. "Mari is a good friend, the same way that Courtney and Olivia are."

Ned chuckles, waving his spoon accusingly at Eugene. "You didn't click with Olivia the same way you clicked with Mari."

"I know," Eugene confirms. It's not like denying it would do anything. It was simply a fact that he and Mari found friendship much quicker than he and Olivia did. "Doesn't matter. She's a friend to me, that's it. Got it?"

With a nod of the head, he replies, "Got it."

The two proceed to eat in a comfortable silence, each man lost in his own thoughts. Eugene let his mind wander to his friendship with Mari, a smile creeping on his face at the thought of her. They've been good friends for as long as he can remember, one of the nicest people he's met in LA. Countless times he's been told that him and Mari would make a great relationship, and yet he can't see her as anything more than a close companion. 

His heart sinks slightly as he thinks about this. Will there ever be a time where he finds a woman he wants to be in a relationship with? Is he cursed to be attracted to men for the rest of his life? He knows the harsh reality of the world around him. Believing he will be accepted by the other Try Guys for his sexuality is wishful thinking, nothing more. 

He comes out of his train of thought to see Ned pulling out his wallet, glancing at the bill sitting before them. Instantly, Eugene reaches for his pocket, pulling out a handful of dollars and counting them. "How much was mine again?"

Ned waves him a dismissive hand. "I got it."

Eugene tenses slightly. "You don't have to do that, I can--"

"No, no, it's my treat," Ned insists. "An apology for prying."

"You didn't pry," Eugene retorts, rolling his eyes with a chuckle.

Ned shrugs, placing his hand on Eugene's wallet and pushing it back towards him, smiling. "Seriously, I got it."

This action is returned with a small grin as Eugene hesitantly shoves his money back into his pockets. "Thanks, Ned."

"No problem, man."


	4. "Come Here. Let Me Fix It."

"I hate this," Zach complains, watching as Eugene messes with his hair in the mirror. 

"Hate what?" Eugene asks, keeping his attention on his reflection.

Zach motions to Eugene. "This. The fact that you look good in literally everything you wear!"

On Eugene's body, he wears a white dress shirt with black pants, silver gemstones lining the waste. His wrists are dazzled with silver bands, and he wears beautiful white wedges that show off his dark red toenails. Normally, he wouldn't dress in such an androgynous outfit, but tonight, after wearing these clothes for a video, he feels confident in the way they look on his body.

Eugene can't help but laugh. "It's all about confidence."

"But I thought you didn't have confidence in your looks?" Zach questions. The remark doesn't hurt Eugene in the slightest; he's joked about his lack of self-esteem plenty of times.

"Fake it till you make it," Eugene mumbles, brushing his hair with frustration. Today, he's feeling oddly indecisive about how he wants to style it, something he usually has no trouble with deciding. No matter which way he tosses it, brushes it, or gels it, he can't seem to find a suitable style. 

Zach throws his arms in the air. "You can only do that if you can really pull off faking it, man. You have that undeniable attraction--"

"So do you."

"No, I really don't," Zach argues. "Some of us have a harder time pretending that we think we look good."

Eugene sighs, turning to face Zach, leaning against the bathroom sink. The man before him is dressed in a white shirt with a jean jacket over it, black jeans wrapped around his skinny legs. On his feet are some old, but nicely kept pale blue converse. His hair is covered by one of his many snapbacks. Truthfully, he looks rather attractive in his current outfit, and he has done a nice job of matching his clothes together. At the same time, Eugene can understand his lack of confidence. After all, he lacks that very same confidence in himself.

"You're a good looking guy, Zach," Eugene states, his voice stern, yet strangely gentle. "The moment you start comparing the way you look to the way other people do is the moment you lose confidence in yourself." He lets out a halfhearted chuckle. "Though I can't really say much. I do the same thing all the time. The standards of good appearance are so harsh, and media definitely doesn't help. But I know you've read the comments on our videos." He smiles. "You're handsomely adorable."

Zach laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. His face turns a light red, though Eugene can't tell if it's the laughing or from the embarrassment of the compliment. Either way, seeing him with a smile on his face warms Eugene's heart, a nice change from his usual "soulless" feelings.

After a moment of quietude, Zach steps forward, reaching his hands towards Eugene's head, specifically his hair. Immediately, almost as an instinct, Eugene blocks him, leaning back and out of reach.

"What are you doing?" Eugene asks, highly defensive. 

Zach rolls his eyes, hands still hovering in the air. "Keith and Ned are waiting for us at the bar, and you're busy being indecisive; I'm fixing your hair." He lowers his hands slightly. "Is that a problem?"

The fact that Zach even has to ask makes Eugene realize how ridiculous his recoil was, and his face lightly blushes, eyes darting towards the floor. "No, not really, but--"

A light chuckle escapes Zach's lips, and he curls his fingers slightly, beckoning Eugene closer. "Come here. Let me fix it."

Instead of stepping forward himself, Eugene lets Zach come closer, hesitantly removing his hands away from his head. Zach approaches immediately, running his fingers gently through Eugene's hair. Pleasing shivers run down Eugene's spine, and he closes his eyes, lost to the feeling of Zach's touch. It's calming, as if he's at a spa, and he can feel his entire body relaxing into the brushing. He's never been one for human connection, but he never knew he had been so touch starved until this very moment. Now, he doesn't want Zach to ever stop, and for him to continue touching him so delicately, lovingly, therapeutically. 

"Done."

As if he had jinxed himself, the warmth leaves Eugene's head, and his heart sinks slightly. He opens his eyes, glancing up at his friend with a raised eyebrow. "You're done?"

"Yeah," Zach nods, face painted in pride. "It looks pretty good now. Check it out."

Slowly, Eugene turns to look at himself in the mirror, and is pleasantly surprised. With the product already in, the combing of Zach's hands swept it all to one side, the ends curling up slightly in a slick hairstyle. He's used it before, but not very often, self conscious what he looks like with straight hair in contrast to his normal waves and curls. No matter how much he had been told it makes him look dashing, he has refused to wear his hair this way.

And yet, hearing Zach say it looks good makes him want to style it this way constantly.

"Wow," Eugene gapes, moving a stray strand out of his eyes. "For a finger comb, you made it look good."

"What's with the backhanded compliment? I made you look hot." Zach hits him on the arm teasingly. "Any girl would be lucky to get into your pants tonight."

The laugh Eugene lets out is riddled with nerves, and he's quick to change the subject. "We can go, if you're ready."

"Dude, I've been ready for twenty minutes now. Let's hit the town."


	5. "I'll Walk You Home."

One hour in, and Eugene is sitting in a booth, watching Zach, drunk out of his mind, make out intensely with a girl on the dancefloor. The familiar redness in his face tells Eugene that Zach is too far gone, that asking him to leave would be pointless. Unfortunately, they took Zach's car here, so leaving wasn't really an option at this point, especially since Ned is Zack's designated driver. Eugene is Keith's driver, but seeing as Keith was currently busy at the bar, that meant Eugene simply had to wait it out, hope that Keith would want to leave a little early and end the night.

Not taking his own car was poor planning on his part, but there was no way he was going to show up at this bar, beautiful as all hell, in a stupid car that his friends pimped out with their faces on it, sparkles littering every surface of the silver paint. He's not trying to get beat up; he's trying to have a good time. Plus, carpooling saves on gas, and that's always worth it.

Glancing around, he sees Keith and Ned at the bar, talking to a group of women there. Keith says something that makes all the girls laugh, and one of them puts a hand flirtatiously on his shoulder, giving him a dazzling smile. A pang of jealous shoots through Eugene, and he turns away, focusing on his own red wine. Tonight, he didn't feel like getting wasted, but wanted relax and de-stress with his single glass of wine, maybe make a few friends that he can get hammered with on a later date.

Almost as if his mind was being read, Eugene feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns around and is met with a beautiful woman who looks to be in her mid to late twenties, a drink in her hand. He quickly gets caught on her chocolate colored eyes, deep and enigmatic. She wears a long sleeved black crop top and high waisted jean shorts that go down to her knees. On her feet are black boots with small heels. She has her brown hair curled and almost completely brushed to one side, lightly obscuring the freckles that surround her face. Although women aren't his type, he can easily admit that this woman is attractive. 

"Is this seat taken?" the women inquires, nodding towards the empty seat across the table. Eugene shakes his head, gesturing for her to sit down. She doesn't hesitate, plopping herself down and setting her drink delicately on the table. Her elbows immediately rest on the table as if she and Eugene have known each other for years.

"I'm Abby," she smiles, holding out her hand to him. The gesture seems unnecessary, but Eugene completes the handshake regardless.

"Eugene," he says with a nod, giving a small smile. She beams, letting go so she can lean back in her seat.

"What brings you here tonight, Eugene?" she questions, bring her glass to her lips.

"Here with friends," Eugene answers, pointing out around the club. "Trying to take a little bit of the stress off of work."

"I hear you," Abby agrees as she lets out a heavy exhale. "Work can be a bitch, even if its the best job in the world." She pushes a stray hair behind her ear. "I work at a hospital, and let me just say, as much as I love being able to help people, I could go for a day without patients trying to force their way into hospital rooms."

"I bet," Eugene says, nodding his head. "Though if you think about it, they just wanna make sure their family is okay. I can't really blame them."

"I know. I hate seeming like the bad guy in those situations, but I have rules I have to follow." Abby leans forward, resting her chin on her hand, arching her back slightly. Eugene knows this tactic, her trying to get him to focus on her assets in the hopes of a hookup. He's played this game before, and he's become quite good at winning it. As such, he keeps his eyes locked onto hers as she asks him, "What do you do for work?"

"I'm a film producer and actor," he replies.

Abby giggles. "I should have known. You're pretty enough for that kind of work. Not really my thing, but I can see why so many people would search for your films."

Eugene instantly knows what she's implying, and he doesn't get the chance to correct her because suddenly, he hears a phone ringing and Abby is answering a call on a pretty red iPhone.

"Hello?" She pauses, and after a minute, rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I know. I can-- Oh, sorry. I didn't realize. Yeah, I'm heading there now. 'kay, bye."

Upon hanging up, Abby stands up, shoving her phone back into her pocket. "Hey, I gotta go. Sorry to leave you like this."

"Is everything okay?" Eugene pries, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"Yeah, its just my friend needs to be picked up. Car broke down on the main road."

Eugene lets out a sharp breath, clicking his tongue. "That's rough. You want me to call a tow truck for her?"

Abby laughs, waving him off. "That's sweet of you, but you don't need to. Here." As she says so, she picks up her drink off of the table and hands it to him, smiling. "Consider it my apology for leaving and my thanks for caring."

Eugene looks down at it, noting the familiarly delectable scent of Napa Valley Wine. He accepts it, holding it out in a solo cheers to her. "Thanks." He sips on it while watching as she walks out, waving to him. The taste isn't quite as he remembers it, a little more bitter than when he had it in the 50 states video on BuzzFeed, but just as good in flavor overall. He finishes it rather quickly, returning to his drink, watching the club patrons around him.

After about ten minutes of dull glancing about, Eugene stretches his feet under the table to rest them on the opposing seat and accidentally kicks something sitting on the cushion. Putting his feet back on the floor, he reach over the table and grabs the object: a black iPhone. Instant sympathy fills his body; after all, he's left his phone in bars and nightclubs more times than he can count. However, when he clicks on the screen, his is confused as to why Abby's picture is the lock screen. After all, she had a red phone, didn't she?

He notices the phone doesn't have a lock, and swipes it open, noticing another picture of Abby on the home screen being heading into the calling app. That's when he notices the most recent call:

Main Phone, 12 minutes ago.

That's when he notices his vision blurring, and his stomach suddenly flips. The phone slips from his hands and onto the table as he rests his head in his arms, temples pulsing. The world feels unbalanced, spinning wildly off its axis. As he lifts his head off the table, he can feel his body swaying, and the two empty glasses on the table dance in front of him, sliding against the wobbling wooden surface.

"Oh, I thought I left my other phone here," he hears someone say. A hand is on his shoulder, and soon he's rising from his seat, everything flying around his sight like a twister as his body tries to resist.

"I think you've had enough to drink, Eugene," the voice continues, putting an arm around his waist. "Let's go back to my place, okay? Let you relax for a while?"

Eugene tries to argue against the person, but his mouth simply won't form the right words. He tries to pull away, yet his body follows his captor's lead, being led through the club and towards the door. His heart races, mind filling with terrifying thoughts. This wasn't supposed to happen to men, that's what he had always been told. Men do this to women, not the other way around. How could nobody think this could happen the other way around? Of course women could use date rape drugs on men; there are no gender specific drugs when it comes to criminal activity.

They're just about out the door when he feels a hand grabbing him by the back of the collar, pulling him away from the exit and out of the grasp of Abby, who appears to be surprised by what just happened. His arms wrap instinctively around this new person, a new feeling of safety taking over his intoxicated body. Eugene can barely muster the strength to look up, but one look at the ratty old sneakers tells him instantly who he is holding onto for dear life.

"Sorry, but he has work tomorrow," Keith lies to Abby, gripping securely onto Eugene. "I know he'd gladly head home with you otherwise, right Eugene?"

Eugene doesn't answer, unable to make his body cooperate with his mind.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He hears Keith feign a gasp. "Oh, you can't talk? Fuck, man, it barely seems like you can move." Then, in the most condescending, articulate voice he's ever heard, Keith says, "I wonder why."

Abby is quick to try to defend herself. "I just found him like that, and I was going to--"

"I know what you were going to do," Keith interrupts, sounding not quite mad, but more protective and serious. "If you want to sleep with someone, sleep with someone who wants to sleep with you, too. Don't result to something like this. If he was allergic to what you gave him, he'd be dead right now.

"But--"

"I'm being generous here, so I suggest you leave before I call the police."

Abby scoffs, shaking her head in aggravation before spinning on her heel, stomping out of the club. As soon as she's gone, Keith readjusts his grip on Eugene. "Come on, Eugene. I'll walk you home."

Eugene slowly nods, letting Keith practically carry his weak body out of the club, a strange role reversal from the usual night out with the Try Guys. As much as he hates the idea of being seen as weak, his heart warms with gratitude, because if he knows anything about Keith, its that Keith is going to make sure Eugene gets home safe, watch over him and take care of him all through the night, and help him understand what happened to him in the morning.


	6. "Have a good day at work."

Eugene does a once-over of himself in the mirror, smoothing out any wrinkles there may or may not be. Today is his first day volunteering with the Trevor Project, and this experience is supposed to be made into a video. He could care less about the filming part of today, but the actual job is what makes him weary. All he truly knows is that he is going to be interviewed, tested to see if he is eligible for helping struggling LGBT+ members. It's an honour to go, but the worry of screwing up sits heavy on his shoulders.

His hands run nervously over the leather jacket covering his red flannel button up, wondering if it's too much for his first day, if the youth who come for help with find him too unapproachable. Then again, the job is over the phone, so it shouldn't be as bad as he is making it out to be.

But what if they don't like the way he sounds? Eugene has never been the most upbeat of the Try Guys. It's a common joking point among the fans and his friends. At a time like this, he wishes he were more friendly and open, that he didn't struggle to let people in or to give advice. Of all people, why was he the one doing this? The other three guys all sound so much more welcoming. What if Eugene's closed personality shines through his voice, and he only makes these helpless kids feel worse?

These thoughts lead Eugene to reach onto his bed, pick up his phone, and quickly find Ned in his contacts. If anyone will be able to put his head back on in this situation, it will be the group's dad friend.

After three rings over the receiver, he finally hears Ned pick up, and the sound of Bean yapping in the background comes through clearly.

"Bean, stop," Ned laughs before turning his attention to Eugene. "Hello?"

"Hey, Ned," Eugene tries to say casually, regretting his decision to call his friend about the issue.

There's a brief, awkward silence where Eugene doesn't know how to ask Ned for advice. Luckily for him, Ned questions, "Uh, what's up? Did you need something?"

Eugene chuckles, looking down at his feet, which are covered by black loafers. "Yeah, um… I'm getting ready to head out for the Trevor Project video."

"Oh, yeah. That is today, isn't it?" He hears Ned hum, thinking. Eugene runs his hand over his black skinny jeans, trying to rid them of the building sweat.

"Yeah, it is," Eugene replies.

"Did you need help getting ready or something? You know I'm out of town with my sister."

"Yeah, I know, just…" Eugene runs his hand anxiously across his face, pressing the heel of his palm into his eye as his heartbeat bangs in his temples.

Ned asks, concerned, "...You good, Eugene? What's up?"

Eugene exhales heavily. "I'm just, you know, trying to prepare myself. It's a lot to think about."

"I would think so. It's a big job." There's a short pause. "You're worried about fucking it up?"

"Yeah, kind of." Eugene sits on the edge of his bed, leg bouncing anxiously. He can feel his chest twisting into knots, heart thumping at the idea of failing. "Like, these kids call because they need someone to help them through their life. I know I'm not the most friendly person, but I really want to help these kids. I'm just afraid that, I don't know. I'll end up doing more bad than good?"

Eugene holds his breath, anticipating Ned's agreement, waiting for his friend to tell him to drop the idea as a whole. There's no way anybody is going to feel safe if Eugene picks up the phone. If he can barely help himself through accepting his sexuality, how is he supposed to help others? What if he's the difference between life and death, and he leads someone the wrong way? Even the thought of such a thing makes Eugene's stomach turn, eyes growing wet with compassion. He wipes his eyes, shakily breathing as he tries to calm himself.

Finally, he hears Ned let out a soft chuckle over the phone.

"Your worrying just shows how great you're gonna do, Eugene," Ned says, voice gentle and genuine. "I know that this is scary for you, and I can't begin to imagine being in your place, but trust me when I say that you're going to be just what these kids need."

Eugene smiles, though his smile still threatens to pull itself back down into a sad frown. It's a complicated set of emotions, and this is the most inconvenient time for them to be arising. Now is not the day to be losing it; after all, he's supposed to be a stable voice over the phone for people in need of one.

"Thanks, Ned," Eugene says. "That means a lot, really."

"Get going, you said you had to be there by noon." He can practically hear Ned beaming with pride on the other end of the line. "Have a good day at work."

The warmth that fills Eugene's chest is overwhelming, and he has to suppress an audible noise of happiness. "Thanks, Ned."

After hanging up, Eugene leans back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh. The blank surface gives him a place to paint out his thoughts, make them more visible and easier to understand. And yet, his thoughts still seem to be a jumbled mess that he hates himself for having.

Keith…

Zach…

Ned…

They're all that's on his mind, and he hates himself for it. His best friends, his brothers, shouldn't be the source of his deepest desires, but here he was, still thinking of them even at a time like this.

But does he truly want to be with one of them? If he does, that's not something to think about right now. Instead, he focuses his mind on the Trevor Project, on the kids that he wants to be able to help. With this resolution in mind, he grabs his car keys off of the table, takes one last glance at himself in the mirror, and shuts off his lights on the way out the door.


	7. "I dreamt about you last night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this while off my ADD meds. Hopefully it isn't TOO scatterbrained. Merry Christmas y'all!

"I dreamt about you last night."

Eugene gives Zach a confused eyebrow raise from the coffee machine, focusing down on the cup he's pouring. "Yeah? What happened?"

He should have known ahead of time that asking would only lead to some kind of mind-boggling tale, one that Eugene would soon regret prying into. However, he couldn't help but feel his heart jump with excitement at the idea that he appeared in his best friend's dreamscape. It's a childish excitement; after all, he knows that most people have no control of their dreams. Regardless, the idea of being on Zach's mind is enough to brighten Eugene's mood, even a little bit.

Zach places down his own mug on the counter, eagerly rubs his hands together, and begins to weave his tapestry.

"So, you know that warehouse on the other side of town?"

"No."

"The one near Wendys?"

"Can't I just think of a warehouse?"

"I guess, but I thought knowing the exact warehouse would help immerse you into the story."

Eugene rolls his eyes, chuckling. "I'm immersed, keep going."

"Okay, so, this warehouse is on fire. I didn't see the fire start, and I don't remember escaping it in the dream. I just know that I was sprinting, and when I stopped and turned around, the warehouse was burning. Like, gasoline in a gas leak kind of shit."

"You're not very good with coherent descriptions."

"Shut up with your big words. Anyways, this building is burning, people are running away. A lot of people. I'm standing there, captivated by these flames, and suddenly I'm on the ground. You ran into me and we both fell."

"Why does it sound like you're accusing me of doing this?"

"So, you're literally on top of me, all dominant-in-bed style—"

"Dominant-in-bed style?"

"You know what I mean. Anyways…"

The rest goes in one ear and out the other, because now that Zach has worded it as such, a cursed image remains locked in Eugene's head, obscuring his primary focus. These kinds of thoughts were far from new, and it's not uncommon that his best friends play the starring roles of them, but having one of said friends plant the image in his head is entirely different. Now that it's been shared, Eugene can't seem to get rid of the idea of him dominating Zach in bed.

"...and it continues for a few seconds."

Eugene blinks. "I'm sorry, what continues?"

Zach rolls his eyes with a smile. "Of course, you want me to repeat. Us making out on the ground for a few seconds."

Though he lets out a laugh on the outside, he can't help but panic over the cherry that Zach has placed on Eugene's cake of libido-driven fantasies. The level of intimacy that dream Eugene can have with Zach is unfair compared the level that real Eugene is expected to have; minimal. It's times like this where Eugene wishes he had been more open to his friends, hugged them and few extra times to prevent this everlasting label of "distant". 

Eugene crosses his legs subtly, hoping that his body will obey him this one time, and struggles to keep his focus on the version of Zach in front of him rather than the version of Zach in his head.

"Eugene, did you ever see Five Feet Apart?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Remember that scene with the frozen lake?"

"Yeah."

"So the dream shifts scenes, and suddenly I'm at the lake, except it's a summer night, the lake is, oddly enough, still frozen, and I'm not there with you; I'm there with Ned."

The disappointment Eugene feels at his leave in the dream frustrates him beyond belief. "Why?"

"You're asking me to make sense of a dream, Eugene." Zach laughs, sounding like music to Eugene's ears. "Me and him start talking, but I can't remember what we were talking about. But eventually, Ned and I started making out."

Surprisingly, this information didn't bother Eugene. In fact, imagining two of the men he cares for the most showing such passionate intimacy only serves to fuel his lust. So much so, Eugene tightens his already crossed legs, hooking his foot around his ankle. After hearing something like that, he knows his body isn't going to listen to reason, much to his frustration. 

Eugene hums. "Was it hot?"

"Oh yeah," Zach says, nodding his head theatrically. "So much passion."

After a sharp exhale, Eugene smiles, letting out a gentle laugh as he rolls his eyes. As much as he tries to convince himself otherwise, it's times like this where he remembers why Zach was such a magnet; his humor, his ability to easily bring a smile onto Eugene's stoic face without going overboard on expression. The other three Try Guys share similar senses of humor, but it's the subtle differences that truly make Eugene adore them all.

"Anyways, you show up, and you got mad at me for wearing your crocs to the lake."

Eugene furrows his eyebrows. "I don't own crocs."

"Exactly! And in the dream, I was wearing stilettos, so that was even weirder. But when you were mad, it was like that soap-opera kind of mad. No yelling, just overexaggerated sentences. Kind of like--"

"The crocs, Zach."

"Yeah, so Ned defended me, saying I would never wear crocs, and then we noticed that Ned was wearing the crocs."

"...I'm so lost."

"So he takes them off and holds them up, and says something like "I'm the one you want, Eugene. I'm the great Croc Caper.""

Eugene sighs. "That sounds like something he would say."

"So, you look really mad, and you march up to him, suddenly wielding a fucking police pistol, and--"

"Wait," Eugene interrupts, holding up a hand. "I just happen to have a pistol in my hand now?"

Zach nods. "Dreams are like a movie made from the cutscenes of different movies, man. Nothing makes sense, ever." He suddenly runs his hands together, preparing to weave the story's finale. "So, you walk up to him, holding up the gun. He's holding up the crocs, accepting his fate as the crocs thief. You make it to him, gun pressed into his forehead, anger burning your eyes…" Zach sets a hand heavily on Eugene's shoulder as the older man takes a long drink of coffee, deeply interested in the tale Zach has told. In a voice so serious that God himself would listen in, Zach states, "...And you begin to make out with him."

Eugene spits his coffee back into his cup, overcome by sudden exasperation. "Excuse me?"

Zach pulls away, throwing his hands up. "That's the dream! We make out, then Ned and I make out, then you and Ned make out! It was some crazy love triangle, though I would love to know the plot surrounding the crocs." He backhands Eugene's chest, eyes widening. "Dude, Keith wasn't in the dream! We could have been a love square!"

Eugene takes a step back, emptying his saliva-tainted coffee into the nearby sink. "No such thing, but okay, sure."

"Anyways, that's all. Just thought you'd like it," Zach concludes as he beams, picking up his own mug. His smile sends warmth into Eugene's chest, and he has to hide the wide grin he wants to return to his best friend.

"Well, I did," Eugene affirms. "Though next time, I'd try to keep the subplots in order. I'm curious about the crocs thing, too."

"I know, right? It's killing me!" Zach sips his coffee and, after quirking an eyebrow, asks, "Did you have any weird dreams last night?" 

Eugene nods, chuckling. "I dreamt that Keith vomited on my carpet after deep throating a banana." He glances over his shoulder and notice Zach's confused smile. "No context was provided for me either, don't worry."


	8. "Take my seat."

"What's up, Eugene?"

The words float in one ear and out the other instantaneously, almost as if they weren't said to begin with. Hell, Eugene can't even focus on who asked the question. His focus was drawn to the plethora of people surrounding him and his friends, encasing them on the subway.

Today's video called for them to make their way to Los Feliz Village, less than 15 minutes away from the office. However, due to a brutal motor incident on the road there, the fastest possible way to arrive is by taking the metro rail, something all four men begrudgingly agreed on. Now here they were, taking the metro rail from Burbank to Glendale, surrounded by strangers that couldn't seem to stop moving through the crowded train.

Eugene absolutely despises the metro rail, though he has always been able to tolerate it when it was necessary to take. Sure, the system map confused him upon first glance, but he was fine enough to navigate his way to his destination. Today, however, is strongly pushing his limits.

Due to changes in the metro scheduling, the subway now has double the usual amount, and at rush hour, too. People surround Eugene in directions he didn't even know existed, the shifting of the crowd pushing him towards the center of the chaos. The contact of dozens of strangers overheats his already-warm body. He closes his eyes, trying to block out the world and focus his attention on breathing normally. As the train stops and the passengers shift, he feels someone's hand land on his shoulder, fueling his desire to lash out. He recognizes that people need to balance in this kind of commotion, but the understanding doesn't help with decreasing his nerves.

A man bumps into him on his way towards the door, talking hastily into his phone, causing Eugene to bump into another man, a few inches taller and dressed in a waiter's uniform, nametag removed. Eugene holds up a hand while mumbling an apology, only for the guy to raise his middle finger. "Fucking asshole", he hears the guy call out, making his way off the train. Someone else takes his place, but Eugene is too far gone to notice anything about them.

Eugene begins shaking. Around him, the world increases in temperature. A mixture of scents, perfumes and deodorants and colognes and sweat, catch his throat every time he attempts to breathe. Eventually, he realizes he can't, noticing his heart beating wildly and uncontrollably against his chest like a caged lion.

"Hey, Eugene? You okay?"

He can't tell who's asking, if he recognizes them or not. His head is spinning, pounding painfully with every thought. 

"I can't hear you, man."

He didn't think he had said anything period, too focused on the feeling of his ribs clawing against his skin. He tries to reach from some part of his body, yet he can't feel anything. He watches his hand touch his chest, but there is no feeling present.

A grip falls on Eugene's shoulder. "Eugene, seriously."

Eugene prys his eyelids apart, staring towards a floor covered by endless pairs of feet. "I can't breathe." Hearing himself speak only seems to increase the panic. "I can't breathe. Fuck, I can't--"

"Hey, it's okay. You're okay, man," the person reassures, leaning in to be heard through the surrounding voices. "You can breathe." The pressure on his shoulder increases briefly as tears begin to pick the corners of his eyes. "That's me, okay? I'm right here, and you're right here with me. I'm gonna guide you towards Zach and Keith, over to where they're sitting."

Eugene doesn't remember nodding his head, but he must have, seeing as he is led through the cart on stumbling feet. He can see himself breathing, but the actual feeling is phantom. If he had the ability to properly think, he would be rather confused by what is happening. Eugene has never freaked over crowds before. Hell, LA Pride had a larger group huddled together than this. Today, however, it feels as if his body is a balloon filling with too much air. Yet in a complete oxymoronic case, his lungs can't seem to get enough oxygen.

"Eugene, here. Take my seat."

His legs collapse beneath him, buckling in just as a set of strong hands grasp his shoulders. He is lowered until he is no longer falling, his body trembling where he sits. Despite this, it still feels as though he is tumbling through darkness, a horrifying, infinite struggle that sucks the air from his chest.

"Look at me, Eugene. I need you to open your eyes."

He hadn't even known his eyes were closed, not until he felt hands on his shoulders, unable to see them for himself. Upon opening them, three alarmed faces look back at him. Two pairs are unable to meet his evenly, but one pair perfectly aligns, eyeing him with care and warmth.

Ned.

"You're having a panic attack. You're okay, it will pass. But I need you to help me do that, let it pass sooner. Okay?" Eugene doesn't feel himself nod, but he begs for his head to do so. "Let's play a game, yeah? I'm gonna count, and I want you to repeat what I say. Is that okay?" Another nod. "Good. Ready? Two. Seventeen. Five. Six. Twenty-nine. Twelve. One hundred and thirty-four."

Eugene stumbles over his own tongue as he tries to keep up with Ned, counting and counting. The voices in the background began to quiet and soon enough, Eugene feels his eyes watering. He has been staring at Ned as if he was his savior, an angelic being meant to protect him for all eternity. Ned is his Uriel.

Eventually, his body loses its jitters and he can take in air with less of a struggle. His vision regains itself and he blocks out the noise. Recognition takes over and before him, he sees his three best friends. Zach's hand is on his knee, Keith's is on his shoulder, and Ned is holding gently onto Eugene's hands, a reminder that he is safe and sound. His stomach flips, and he gags, swallowing down the bile that threatens to spill. 

There are no words between the men, only comfort and concern. Eugene bathes in the presence of his friends, relaxing under their touch as the train moves along steadily towards their destination. He is calm again.


	9. "I saved you a piece."

Eugene can't exactly name the scent that's in the air. Even more difficult, he can't decide if he likes it or not. It smells fruity and sweet, but stale and almost like vinegar, but not quite. These things should not be used to describe the same object, but there is no other proper way to do so accurately.

He knows that last night, there was a party to celebrate reaching five million subscribers on the Try Guys channel. Knowing how their parties tend to be, with the large group of employees drinking themselves in oblivion, Eugene uncharacteristically decided to turn down his invitation, staying the night in. After seeing their Instagram stories from what had gone on that night, he's a little upset he didn't attend. Despite this, he knows it's for the best; watching the way the other Try Guys were dancing against each other made his adrenaline boost, and he knows that he would have taken it further had he been there with them. He's not willing to put their friendship at stake with something like that.

Now, standing in the doorway of their office, he can practically feel the weight of everybody's hangovers. Some are leaning back in their chairs, downing water and aspirin. Others are resting their faces in their arms, shaking their heads in pain and disappointment. He spots Miles sitting down, rubbing his temples with a wince on his face.

Eugene approaches Miles, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Rough night?" he teases.

"Fuck you for staying home," Miles mumbles, opening his eyes into a squint. He eyeballs Eugene with disdain, making Eugene smirk.

"It's not like you had to drink, man," Eugene offers, trying to console his hurting friend. "You could have--"

"I know, sorry," Miles practically whimpers, dropping his head into his hands to shield his eyes. Eugene, feeling generous, stands up and turns off the office lights, letting the sun naturally light the room. It's instantly much easier on his head, and the collective sigh of everyone in the building tells him that they all must feel the same way.

Eugene gives Miles a forgiving smile before he walks into the kitchen, but it is soon erased when a cool wetness hits his body. Eugene recoils instantly and groans, staring down at his clothes with disgust. Of course, should his luck have it, the wetness mostly hit his crotched, making it look like he wet himself.

"What the fuck?" He practically yells, finally looking up. In front of him, he sees his tall and clumsy friend with a hand over his mouth, suppressing laughter. In his other hand is a wine glass.

Eugene eyeballs him, irritated. "Keith, what the hell are you doing?"

Keith, after he calms himself down enough to form words, says, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You didn't come out last night so I was like, "Hey, Eugene never got to drink with us, that's not very cool." So I was gonna throw this on your face. But I saw you walk towards the door and threw it way too early."

"No shit," Eugene states, motioning down to his pants. Keith chuckles upon looking at it, and places the wine glass onto the counter. 

"It's not all bad," Keith tries to remedy, walking away from Eugene and towards the fridge. Upon opening the door, the smell from before hits Eugene like a slap in the face, and he nearly gags at its pungency. What Keith pulls out is a slice of cake on a paper plate. In the pink sponge of it he can see chunks of strawberry, which looks rather delectable. The frosting, however, is a weird combination of fluffy white and liquidy yellow, sticking out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of the desert.

"See?" Keith holds out the plate to him, beaming. "I saved a piece for you."

At this moment, Eugene shifts his body uncomfortably, the wet jeans beginning to chafe his thighs. He's having a battle with his morality, trying to decide if denying or accepting it would be the better option in these circumstances. For a moment, he considers taking it, eating it just to be kind to Keith. That is, until he remembers that the person he is talking to is, in fact, Keith Habersberger, one of his best friends.

"How long was that out before you stuck it in the fridge?" Eugene inquiries, his nose scrunching.

Keith glances away, opening his mouth and struggling to find the words under he finally says, "I might have forgotten to put it in the fridge before I closed down the office last night." Eugene lets out a sound of revulsion, but immediately bites on his lips, attempting to silence his negative voice. 

This little effort doesn't go unnoticed by Keith, who adds, "I put it in this morning when I got here. It should be fine." 

His emphasis on 'fine' catches the attention of Eugene, and he lets out a small, thankful smile. He told the group that he is trying to put his needs before others, something he often struggles with doing. It's ironic that a man who talks about his disliking of people so frequently values them much higher than his own person. He still has trouble doing things for the better of himself, falling into the nasty habit of only saying 'yes'. Lucky for him, Ned, Keith, and Zach all understand, and are willing to help him change this aspect of himself.

He shakes his head, pushing the plate back with one hand. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass."

Keith grins, and Eugene can see the pride clear on his face, causing Eugene's own to become lightly dusted in red. It's a childish exchange, but it means the world to Eugene.

Quickly throwing the cake away, Keith unbuttons his blue-squared flannel and steps forward, wrapping it around Eugene's waist. The older man's breath gets caught, trying to ignore their proximity. He watches Keith tie the arms of the shirt into a knot, rotating the entire garment so that the wet stain on Eugene's pants is hidden. 

"A reward for voicing your distaste," Keith elaborates, indicating to the shirt. 

Eugene rolls his eyes, unable to help the smols that creeps onto his lips. "It's not a big deal, man."

"To you it's not," Keith says, nodding his head, "but to me, it is."

They're just words, simple praise, but they warm Eugene's heart in a way he's never felt before. This has always been something he found utterly enchanting about Keith: his care, the way he takes the small things and makes them seem like they deserve worldwide attention. It's endearing, and one of the first things that Eugene found himself in love with.

"Do you want different pants?" Keith asks, giving a teasing smirk. "There are a few new pairs of pants in the costume closet. I saw a pair of skinny jeans in there. Nobody else wears them, so I assume they're your size."


	10. "I'm sorry for your loss."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time I updated this was in MARCH!? 
> 
> W H A T. 
> 
> In the words of Remy Sanders, "No ma'am. NO ma'am."
> 
> Here you go, I'm sorry for such a long break. I'll do my best to write more. Don't worry, I cross my heart and pinkie promise that we're gonna make it to 100.
> 
> Happy reading :)

"Fucking—!"

Eugene slams the lid of his computer down, resting his head in his hands. The headache is already beginning to form, temples pulsing. He knows by this point that he should buy a new computer, but he just hasn't put aside the time to do so. That, and transferring all of his data from one computer to the other is too time consuming.

"Are you good?" he hears Zach ask.

Eugene let's out a huff. "I fucking hate this computer."

"I told you, your laptop doesn't have enough RAM to run the software properly. Of course it's gonna shut down."

"I know, I know," Eugene mumbles. The exhaustion of editing is finally setting in, destroying his second wind. He spent last night editing this same video, heading into work without a wink of sleep. It isn't necessarily uncommon for Eugene, but in cases like this, he really believes that hindsight is 20/20. 

The video goes up tomorrow, and he's lost so much work. He could easily hand this to their editors, email them to explain the situation, and go home for the night. However, his compulsion to finish what he has started leads him to lean back in his chair and open the computer again with a sigh. He practically punches the power button.

He hears footsteps next to him and his chair pulls back a little. Out of the corner of his eye, Eugene sees Zach leaning over his shoulder, watching the screen. He wills himself not to turn around, to seem uninterested in the close company. The lack of space would usually bother Eugene, but he can give Zach a free pass. The sudden hand he feels on his shoulder is a little more of a shock, but he doesn't force it away. His heart picks up its pace and he hopes that his face keeps its normal tint.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Zach jokes, shaking Eugene slightly. When Eugene doesn't react, Zach adds, "Don't worry too much, man. How much did you lose?"

"Thirteen fucking minutes," Eugene says through clenched teeth. He can feel his body heating up with frustration as he speaks.

Zach's hand tenses up. "Jesus. You didn't save along the way?"

"Doesn't matter if I did," Eugene replies, disheartened. "The file gets corrupted if the program closes on it."

"Fuck, dude. That's stupid." Zach leans forward, shutting the computer gently. "It's fine though, we can post an update and upload the video on Thursday."

Eugene stubbornly reopens the computer, powering it up. "No, I can finish it. If I don't distract myself I can redo it all and finish by…" He pulls out his phone and opens it. When he reads the time, his body feels heavy and tired. "...Two thirty."

Zach groans and shuts the computer once again, only this time, he grabs it off of Eugene's desk and tucos it snug under his arm, walking towards the door. Eugene spins slightly in his chair, watching his friend while completely unamused. "Dude, really?"

"Seriously, go home," Zach pushes. "You've been here since eight."

"Zach…"

Zach gives him a reassuring smile. "Dude, it's fine. I swear. They'll understand." He shakes Eugene's laptop in his hand. "Plus, this gives us a reason to go computer shopping."

Eugene raises an eyebrow. "You want to buy a computer with me?" The reason behind his surprise isn't exactly apparent. Perhaps it's the fact that Zach is willing to spend his time doing something so mundane just to make Eugene's life easier. It's not that Eugene hates shopping per se, rather he finds shopping for electronics to be tedious. It's nothing like clothes shopping. With that sort of outlook, Zach's offer feels very sweet, so much so that Eugene is completely willing to push aside the boredom of computer shopping just to have this date with Zach.

But it isn't a date; it's spending time together. It's a friendly gesture.

""Want" is a strong word," Zach says with a smirk. "I'm just good with computer shit. Plus, I know one of the employees at Best Buy. He can hook us up."

Eugene gives a tired smile, his heart warming at Zach's words. "Thank you."

Zach waves his free hand dismissively. "No problem. Now come on, I'm bringing you home."

"I have a car, you know." 

"I wasn't aware," Zach replies, teasing sarcasm dripping from his voice. "You're also sleep deprived, and we know how great you drive when you're tired."

Eugene only has to think back to their DUI series for a few seconds before he reluctantly stands up and grabs his jacket off the back of his chair. He's acting like it's nothing more than a nice gesture, or that he's only saying yes to make Zach feel better about being nice. In reality, Eugens he can't deny the joyful feeling he had in his heart. It's very off-brand of him. Regardless, he gladly follows Zach out of the room, shutting out the lights on an aggravating night and heading towards tranquility with someone he truly cares about.


End file.
